


The Pursuit of Unhappiness

by hanekawa



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanekawa/pseuds/hanekawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He keeps asking the wrong questions, even when she keeps telling the right answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pursuit of Unhappiness

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to happen in 2006, btw, when KAT-TUN has just newly debuted and Kame/Koizumi is newly rumored.
> 
> Originally posted in 2010.08.01 [here.](http://mi-key.livejournal.com/29192.html)

.

 _'Cause I am hanging on every word you say  
And even if you don't want to speak tonight  
That's alright, alright with me_

(Breathing - Lifehouse)

.

.

.

 **One.**

There are times when Kame wishes she would just tell him what she really thinks.

Sometimes, he catches her looking at him oddly, a flicker of emotion that he doesn't dare to identify shadowing her eyes. But then the look would be gone the next moment, leaving him to wonder whether it was really there or if it was only his hopeful mind playing a trick.

He never tries to ask; if it was important enough, she would surely tell him.

He waits, but she never comes.

  
 **Two.**

“Tell me.” Kame says.

Kyoko-san looks at him. “Tell you what?”

“What you're thinking.”

She tilts her head, a thoughtful look on her face. “I'm thinking of getting us some hot ramen take-outs for dinner tonight. What do you say?”

Kame shooks his head. “Tell me something else.”

She continues to look at him evenly, something close to, but not quite, curiosity in her dark eyes. “I'm thinking of coming early to tomorrow's photoshoot.”

Her tone is bland enough to pass off as her usual casual tone, but he recognizes a spark that sounds almost like a challenge in it. He looks at her – at her calm countenance, at her cool eyes, at the way her face doesn't betray any emotion – and he thinks: _she knows._

But still he tries again. “No, not that. Tell me another thing. Something a bit more... personal.”

She sips her tea slowly, holding the cup delicately in her hand. She's looking at him over the rim of the cup, as if measuring him, before she says, “I can tell you many things, but we both know it's not gonna be what you're looking for. So why don't you just ask me what you want to hear?”

 _Because I'm afraid of the answer_ is what he thinks, but doesn't say. Instead he says without looking at her, “You're an actress.” Like it's an obvious answer, like it's all there is to it to understand. And maybe it is.

There's a short, startled laugh, and when he looks up at her, she's smiling – amused and pleased, and the only thing he could think of through the sudden pleasant buzz in his head is how he needs to get her to laugh around him more often.

“So are you.” Kyoko-san says. “An actor, I mean. But you don't hear me suspecting you lying all the time, do you?”

“I have nothing to hide from you.” Kame complains, almost childishly.

One corner of her lips twitches upwards, shaping the ghost of a smile, but her clear, _clear_ dark eyes aren't smiling. “Are you sure?”

And it would be easy – _so easy_ – to just ask her the one question he wants to ask the most, to finally be done with it and _move on_ – just like it's so easy to upset this illusion of balance that he creates around them and destroy everything.

And he just – he couldn't risk that.

So he just smiles at her and says, “Yeah, sure. Hot ramen. That's a good idea.”

She stares at him for a few more seconds, eyes searching, before she stands up and heads to the phone desk, her exhaling breath sounds like a defeated sigh in the quiet room.

Kame watches her walk away from him – at the elegant way she always carries herself even in her own home, at the way she makes everything she does look easy, at the way she doesn't really pretend to not know about this thing that he has for her, at the way she is subtly encouraging him to move on – and he just... he really couldn't.

But their little game cannot go on forever, and he knows he's already counting his days with her.

He wonders which one of them would finally break first.

He has a feeling it wouldn't be her.

  
 **Three.**

He invites Yamapi for a drink because he's still not masochistic enough to invite Ryo. Although halfway through the third round, he starts to think this is A Bad Idea because he's just remembered that Ryo isn't the one who doesn't believe in the concept of affection called _Love_.

Yamapi laughs and laughs and laughs and keeps on laughing until he's in danger of falling over from his seat. Kame is really tempted to speed up the process by kicking his stool, so that Yamapi hopefully will bump his head on the floor, forget the whole fiasco, and mercifully spare him the embarrassment.

He sighs.

Too bad he's never that lucky.

“I'm so not telling you anything ever again.” He declares passionately, glaring at his glass.

“But seriously though, you're in love with Koizumi Kyoko? That Koizumi _'Kyon-kyon_ ' Kyoko? The infamous artist and singer? _That_ Koizumi Kyoko?” Yamapi manages to choke out between uncontrolled giggles.

“I've never heard of any other Koizumi Kyoko. Have you?” Kame sulks, just barely manages to stop himself from pursing his lips.

“Whatever you're getting high on right now, it's clearly a good stuff. Let me have some!” Yamapi demands, slapping his palm on the table a few times.

Kame splutters indignantly. “I'm not _delusional_ , you arsehole!”

“Could've fooled me.” The other boy smirks, that annoying amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Yeah? Sorry to ruin your fantasy, then.” And he definitely does _not_ pout. Much. Alcohol could do that to grown-up people sometimes.

“Tell me though, how did you know you're actually in love with her?” Yamapi asks. From the way the corner of his lips keep twitching upwards, it's rather obvious to Kame that the other boy still thinks this whole thing is actually a joke. Bastard. “I mean, did you toss a coin into the air and then decided that if it was head, you're in love; and if it was tail, you're not?” he snorts and starts giggling uncontrollably. Again. Even though Kame thinks there's nothing funny about it all.

“Now who is the silly one here?” Kame huffs. “If that's really how you treat love – as if it's only a big, bad joke with an ill-timed punch line – no wonder you're _still_ alone.” As soon as that last bit leaves his mouth, Kame cringes. That's rather uncalled for.

But instead of being offended, Yamapi gives him a shit-eating grin so wide Kame's afraid it's going to split his face in two, that annoying twinkle in his eyes gets even brighter, if that's even visually possible. “That's exactly the point, don't you see? That's where I'm _right_ and everybody's _wrong_!” he gestures animatedly with his hands.

“Don't you mean where you're _insane_ and everybody's quite _sane_?” Kame suggests helpfully.

The other boy shakes his head furiously and clucks his tongue at him in disapproval. “See? This is why I can't believe you're actually in love: you still think with your _head_. Not to mention also the fact you look quite cheerful.” Then he smiles at him in a way that makes Kame think he's indulging him in some private joke, and expecting some kind of reaction from him.

Kame stares.

The smile falls. Then Yamapi keeps looking at him for a few more seconds before throwing his hands to the air and sighing resignedly, his expression clearly states: _why me_? “The thing is,” Yamapi begins, “Being in love always makes people stupid. And lose their heads. Sometimes even quite in literal sense. And they also get this glazed look in their eyes – you know, the kind of look that people who live in psych wards always have?”

Kame frowns. “Is it just me, or did you really think * _being in love_ * sound the same as * _being crazy_ *?”

“Finally!” Yamapi claps his hands noisily and nods his head repeatedly in approval. “I thought you'd never get it.”

Kame's frown deepens. “That's _absurd._ ” He says, and stops.

“No; that's _reality_.” Yamapi shrugs. “It's ugly – so unlike those fairy tales you've heard in your childhood, and once you've got it, you wouldn't know up from down or right from left – a fact that I'm sure a person like Koizumi Kyoko knows only too well.” He downs his drink in one big gulp before signaling the bartender for another.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly how that sounds: she's more clever than you think. Besides, what are you going to do about the twenty years ahead that she has on you?” he asks, his tone sounding oddly musing.

“It's only a minor obstacle.” Kame says with feeling and not a little contempt. Of course _that_ would be the first thing that comes to people's minds.

There's a sudden, profound silence – not in the sense that the pub has just gone quiet, because it's still as noisy as ever – but more like a foreboding, like the kind of silence that one always feels when a bad thing is about to happen. He looks at Yamapi, wondering if the other boy feels it too, when he notices that all humor is gone from Yamapi's face – leaving behind only the serious face of a person worthy of the title the leader of a famous idol group.

Kame shivers.

“No – no, it's not.” Yamapi says quietly. “She is a _woman_ , and you're only _a little child_.”

Kame stares at him.

Yamapi sighs into his glass. When he looks back at Kame, his expression is so grim Kame wonders if somebody has died earlier today. “You don't seem to get it; twenty years difference is not a minor obstacle – it is a lifetime. When you are but a baby, she has made many right and wrong decisions and discovered what life had to offer. And then when you're busy growing up to be a teenager, she has honed her experience and mastered the art of deceiving people to get what she wanted. So yes, I honestly don't think twenty years is only a small difference; it is only the tip of an iceberg, and if you're not careful, you're gonna drown yourself.”

 _You're nothing but a child to her, and she would never take you seriously._

“So what, you're saying I should give up?” he bites out.

Yamapi shrugs. “I'm saying you should know yourself before you try to get to know her.”

But all Kame could hear is _She's way out of your league; you would stop this temporary madness if you know what's best for you_.

He clenches his teeth. “You know, for someone who doesn't actually believe in love, you sound like you've got a whole lot of experience in that area. Something you forgot to tell me about?” he grounds out forcefully. The urge to hurt, to make other people feel what he's feeling – the devastation, the humiliation – is already there, at the edge of his consciousness – waiting to be leashed out, to finally have a chance to really make something – somebody, _anybody_ – break and bleed.

Yamapi snorts. He gives him a crooked sideways little smile that Kame couldn't quite read, and doesn't try to. “Let's just say that I don't want to make the same mistake ever again.” He leaves it at that. Kame doesn't ask.

Kame stares at his almost full glass, feeling his earlier emotions dissipated slowly from him, leaving nothing but tiredness and empty feeling on the pit of his stomach.

It's not that he doesn't know how impossible it is for Kyoko-san to return his feelings. He understands that perfectly, and it's not like he expects people to start telling him otherwise or giving him encouragements. No, he just wants to be acknowledged, to have some people who matter to him admit that what he feels for Kyoko-san is not only some silly school-boy _crush_.

It turns out that even his simple wish is quiet hopeless, after all. Just like any other wishes he has ever had the courage to have.

Yamapi drinks the rest of his vodka in rapid succession before taking in a deep breath and facing Kame, expression completely solemn. “No, you've never been in love before, and what you have for her is not love.” Yamapi says, his voice still holds that odd contemplative quality from his earlier statement. “You will know the difference though, when you finally feels it yourself.” He grimaces. “Misery's kind of hard to miss, after all.” He adds, seemingly only talking to himself.

Kame sighs into his glass. “So what now?”

“You're smart.” Yamapi shrugs. “I'm sure you can decide for yourself.”

Kame doesn't reply.

  
 **Four.**

“This is ridiculous.” Kyoko-san says. “We've been here for like, forever, and yet the line doesn't look any shorter!”

“It's only been an hour, actually.” Kame replies idly.

They’re standing in line to some new restaurant downtown that supposedly has, like, the most tasty okonomiyaki and karage ramen _ever_. Considering the place is still new, it is understandable that it would be real crowded, thus the long queue outside the place.

“What a waste of time!” she glances around, and notices the long line of people that stand behind them in surprise, before a frown decides to settle between her brows. “That's it! We're out of here!”

“But then the last hour would have _really_ been a waste of time.” Says Kame, an eyebrow raised. “It's better to just wait a bit longer, don't you think? It's nearly our turn, after all.”

“What makes you think there would be any left when our turn comes?”

Kame flashes her a lopsided smile. “It's also a good thing to have faith.”

She clicks her tongue at him. “That's just plain foolish. Out, I say.” She starts to turn, but his hand on hers stops her from moving.

“Just humor me.” Kame says. “Please?”

“Why are you so insistent about this? Aren't you tired of waiting?” she asks, some strange affliction that he's never heard before laces the tone of her voice.

He looks at her, only to find her eyeing him in a way that he doesn't know how to place; he wonders if they're still talking about the same thing.

...Probably not.

She takes a look on his face, an unfamiliar flicker in her eyes, before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Only because I don't have any urgent matter to attend.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

Then he slides his hand from her wrist to her hand, lacing their fingers together. His heart skips a beat when she ( _hesitantly)_ gives his fingers a small squeeze. It takes him a few seconds to return the gesture, firmly, _gently_.

Small victories are still victories, after all.

  
 **Five.**

“Did you forget to warn us about something?” is the first thing Nakamaru says the moment he spots him inside their practice room.

He blinks slowly at Nakamaru, contemplating the answer carefully, for he couldn't honestly say he knows which event Nakamaru's talking about. He tries hard to recall any misconduct that he might have committed in public these last few days, but he's sure he's been a good boy lately. “No?”

Wordlessly, the older boy pushes a magazine to his direction, eyes watching him in something akin to worry. Kame takes the magazine and opens it to the marked pages, where a full-page picture of him and a certain infamous actress is displayed, looking entirely unaware.

His eyebrows raise. “Huh.”

“You don't seem surprised.” Nakamaru notes, a hint of bewilderment in his voice.

“I was hoping they would put some better picture for such headline.” He says by way of explanation, confirming Nakamaru's statement. “I mean, this picture of me and her walking together wouldn't suffice as the proof to the kind of lewd idea they were trying to propose in their article.”

“Er,” Nakamaru says, looking a bit put-out. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you saying you've been waiting for this kind of article to appear?”

Kame glances at him, not really saying anything, but apparently it's answer enough for the other boy, for he lets out a long-suffered sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose in obvious attempt to restrain himself – though from anger or distress, Kame isn't quite sure.

“I don't make a habit of putting my foot in other people's personal business, mind you. Only I can't help but wonder: why?” Nakamaru asks, eyes boring into him. “I thought you were trying to make your name in the Entertainment Industry?”

“You think this is stupid.” It's not a question.

“A career suicide is what I think it is.” It is delivered softly, quietly, but no less firm; not so much a disapproval as a chiding a mother usually gives her misbehaved child: much like affection hidden beneath layers and layers of exasperation. Nakamaru's eyes are still boring into him, and he finds it gratifying that he couldn't quite meet his eyes.

“Jin would find this all funny as hell.” Kame hears himself say an eternity later, forcing a smile to his lips.

“He would.” Nakamaru agrees.

“Think I need to go see Kitagawa-san?” he asks, a bit of uncertainty slipping through.

“You do that.” Nakamaru says. “He probably already knows, but – you know – just for the formality's sake.” And he follows it with a shrug.

Of course Kitagawa-san already knows. That photo in the magazine is not exactly recent, which means he must have interfered to not let this – whatever this is – become a public knowledge until now. Such thing – anything, really – involving any member of Johnny's Entertainment wouldn't be able to print without Kitagawa-san's approval, which means either this is a warning to stop, or an encouragement to get more public attention. You couldn't really tell with Kitagawa-san; Even if you ask him himself, the man would only give you cryptic answers with the word 'YOU' thrown in somewhere in there – which are slightly confusing at best.

“Well, better not waste any time then.” He sighs and rises to his feet, once again giving the other boy a small smile that feels no less terse and strained than the last one before stepping toward the door.

“Kame, wait.” Nakamaru calls out hesitantly before he could manage to reach the door. When Kame looks back at him, there's a crease formed between his eyebrows, and the way his fingers keeps fiddling with the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt tells Kame that he's thinking hard of how best to phrase what he wants to say.

This brings about a genuine small from Kame. Nakamaru never wears his nervousness well.

“Look, I just – _oh hell_ – it's not that it's wrong, or even a mistake, but perhaps it needs a better time. Or perhaps the right opportunity.” And then he looks at Kame, and whatever he sees on his face makes him backtrack and appear more than a little uncomfortable. “Look, I don't mean--”

“I do know what you mean.” Kame cuts him. “But when is 'the right time' I wonder?” he asks, a bitter aftertaste in his tongue. “Because in my head, it sounds like an excuse, like I actually am not sure about my own feelings...” his talk with Yamapi comes to mind unbidden, and he could almost hear what Yamapi's got to say once he caught wind about this. “...and I can't have that.”

Nakamaru only looks at him sadly.

“But I appreciate it though, that you don't dismiss my feelings so easily.” He grins at Nakamaru just like he always does after he did something atrocious to people and he's trying to win them back again. Which always works wonder every time, since Nakamaru has just given him a smile back in response.

“I'll catch you later, 'kay?” he says at the door. “Oh, and just tell them I'm late for practice or something, would you?” he adds a moment later. “It wouldn't do for them to get caught eavesdropping on Kitagawa-san's doors – again.” He makes a face.

Nakamaru laughs. “I'll be sure to tell Jin and the rest that. Off you go, now.” He adds.

“Nakamaru – thanks.”

“Good luck.” He hears him say before he closes the door behind him.

Kame smiles.

  
 **Six.**

“You're furious.” Kame notes, sneaking a glance at her.

“And justifiably so,” she replies in clipped tone.

“I thought you were used to it by now?” he says, watching her quietly.

Slowly, she turns to look at him, a storm in her usually calm eyes. “I am! But they have no excuse to include _you_ in such a crude rumor like this!” She gets up from her chair and starts pacing around the room. “I mean, come on people, as if a fine young man like you would ever be interested in a woman who is old enough to be his mother!”

 _Ouch._ Kame winces. _Strike one._ Way to break a heart without really doing it, Kyoko-san.

“Besides, how can you be so calm?!” Kyoko-san turns at him next, her eyes flashing. “Your career is at stake here, young man. _Yours_ , and not mine!”

Well, there’s that too. Kame knows he should be upset; he _knows_ that. Except he’s not really. Because, honestly? He’s a little bit happy that some people take his crush seriously enough to deem it worthy for a front page, even if it is only on some shady magazine. Even with the warning Nakamaru and Johnny-san has given him, and the threat with his career at stake, he just couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

But it’s not like he could tell Kyoko-san about it, oh no.

Still he takes a moment to feel touched that Kyoko-san cares enough about his career to be angry about it.

“Johnny-san said the agency would take care of it.” He shrugs, trying not to make a big deal out of it, and failing miserably. “I’m sure this rumor would disappear by itself in a few weeks time.”

Kyoko-san only looks at him incredulously. “You’ve been in this business for, what, five years now? Are you telling me that in those five years you learned absolutely nothing about how this kind of thing works in showbiz?! Keep this attitude, and before you know it, those paparazzi would eat you to pieces with a spoon!”

Kame bites his lower lip to keep from laughing. He knows it’s kinda inappropriate, but he just couldn’t help it if he thinks it’s funny!

Kyoko-san sends him a death glare.

He instantly sobers up and holds his hands up in surrender gesture. “Right. No laughing. I get it.”

Sighing heavily, she goes back to her chair and looks at him, a frown creasing her forehead. “You really don’t have any idea how serious this really is, do you?”

He returns her look quietly, taking a moment to answer it. “I _do_ know. Like you said, KAT-TUN might have just debuted, but we’re not exactly newcomer in this showbiz industry. That’s why I think we should just wait it out.” He tries to smile reassuringly at her. “Besides, think about it: none would actually believe that a fine, mature woman such as yourself would be interested in a young—“ he swallows, “-- inexperienced little boy barely out of his diaper like me, right?”

 _Ouch._ Double _ouch._

One would think that admitting such thing to yourself would be less painful, but alas. Admitting it only in your head and out loud is _different._ There’s some kind of finality when anybody other than yourself hear it – a finality that somehow couldn’t be retract or taken back anymore.

Damn Yamapi to hell and back for even getting that thought into his head.

Even if it finally brings a small smile to Kyoko-san’s lips. Like she silently agrees with his words earlier. Which is just…

 _Ouch_. Triple _ouch._

…hurtful.

 _Dammit._

He smiles back at her, his nails digging into his palms all the way.

  
 **Seven.**

It’s not exactly a surprise then, after both of their agencies cleared things up with the press, they see less and less of each other. It’s like, their agencies are trying to prove the rumor isn’t true by shoving as much work as possible down their throats, so that they will be too busy to even try to meet each other.

Right. That could be his paranoia working overtime, but still.

But no, that doesn’t surprise him at all. What surprises him is that at the rare chance they could have spend their time together, she would back out for one reason or another. Every. Single. Time.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was _avoiding_ him.

Whatever.

It’s not until he realizes that beer is his inseparable new bestfriend in the nights he finally admits he’s… lonely. And misses her terribly. Which is just… pathetic, really.

He stares mournfully at the newly opened beer bottle in front of him.

“Looks like it would only be you and me tonight, my friend.” He tells the bottle sadly. “Just like any other nights before.”

The bottle doesn’t say anything.

“Pathetic, really.” He sighs into the tabletop.

  
 **Eight.**

He wonders if he’s dreaming.

There’s pressure in his lungs; something heavy, filling him full, no room for anything else. Invisible force pulls him down down down _down_ and under, weighing his limbs and body in a way he’s never experienced before.

 _Kazuya, breathe!_

A voice above him, sounds both familiar and unfamiliar. It sounds weird, too. Frantic. Afraid. Loud. _Desperate_.

Something is tilting his head up, and then there’s a sudden pressure against his lips, forcing his mouth open, and then he feels something being pushed ( _blown?_ ) inside, before it’s gone, and the pressure is back on his chest; pressing, pushing. Up and down. Up and down. There and gone. There and gone. Every movement more frantic than the last.

 _Oh God Kazuya please don’t do this to me you can’t do this to me come on breathe damn you breathe--_

It’s then that he realizes what the voice is saying at all; breathe? What does it mean, _breathe_? He tries to feel his lungs, his heart, trying to find the beat, the blood rush in his ear that would indicate his internal organs are working properly, but there’s only numbness all over. And pain. All over his nerves ending. He tries again, this time focusing on the small sensation he feels on the tips of his fingers, working its way up to his arm, his shoulder, before he feels it making its way to his heart—which stills, for a moment, like it’s hesitating, like it’s _waiting._

Another push above his heart, and it’s like his body is suddenly on fire; a sudden ringing in his ears, and something is trying to burst out of his chest, making its way up his throat, leaving burning sensation in its trail; there’s an awful sound, overriding any other sound around him, and it’s a while until he realizes that the sound is coming from his own mouth, and another second until he manages to make it stop.

Now that his senses are coming back, he can hear his heart thumping loudly inside his chest, as if it was compensating for having nearly stopped earlier. There’s a ringing sound in his ears still, and he figures it would be a while before it would stop. His skin feels… _weird_. Like he doesn’t belong. Like it’s still in shock, and couldn’t quite decide whether to keep his temperature up or down.

“Kazuya?”

There’s a hand on his face. A palm pressing against his cheek, gently, gently, _gently._ Unconsciously, he turns his face toward that hand, reaching for the warmth it seems to offer. Except…except it feels unexpectedly cold, and unsteady, and--- and.

Kame opens his eyes.

“You’re shivering.” He tells her. “Why is that?”

A gasp escapes her lips. She uses her other hand to cover her mouth, while her face makes this funny expression, with what suspiciously looks like tears on the corners of her eyes, brows furrowed, forehead creasing, and the way she bites her lower lip, it seems like she couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved or both.

She’s also, Kame notices, soaked all over, kneeling over him on the bathroom floor.

 _…bathroom floor?_

For some reason, he suddenly feels terribly, terribly guilty, even though he couldn’t recall what it is that he did wrong.

“I’m sorry.”

She lets out a sharp laugh – no mirth, only a hint of irony, because it’s obvious that if she doesn’t laugh then she would _cry_. Kame thinks he understand the feeling. Especially since he’s lying naked. _Naked_. On his bathroom floor.

…he really, really needs to find out what happened.

“You better be, young man. Or I swear I’ll _make_ you. Trust me when I say you’re not gonna like. It. One. Bit.”

Despite her threat, a tear does fall down her cheek, and Kame just couldn’t stop a smile from blossoming on his face.

“You’re beautiful.” He breathes out.

“Shut up.” She nearly sobs. “Save your energy. We’re going to a hospital, now.”

“And I love you.” He smiles at her, and then promptly passes out.

  
 **Nine.**

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the sight of Koizumi Kyoko sleeping on a chair by his bedside, her head resting on one arm while her other hand clasping his in a tight grip, her long hair loose around her shoulders, a haphazardly thrown quilt covering her back.

He blinks.

The sight doesn't change. He glances at their joined hands. The warmth radiated from her hand on his feels real enough, so this couldn't be a hallucination or a dream, right? This has to be real, right? He flicks his fingers experimentally, nudging her hand in the briefest touch possible. She lets out a tiny noise and shifts slightly, but otherwise she doesn't show any sign of waking up.

He releases the breath he doesn't realize he's been holding, and takes in her appearance once more. She doesn't look the least bit comfortable, hunching over his bed like that. And the uncomfortable, stiff high-backed chair that she must have pulled from his computer desk to sit on definitely doesn't help.

Watching her silently, he couldn't help but wonder why she's still here at all, in his room, in his apartment, _in his life._

He doesn't remember closing his eyes, but the next time he opens them, it's already morning. He glances to the side, but there's none there. His stiff chair is back to its place by the computer desk, and not a single thing is out of place – just like he left it when he went to sleep yesterday evening.

He sighs. Definitely a dream, then.

Burying himself under the covers, he tries to recapture his dream, closing his eyes real tight and refusing to go back to reality for the moment. He _deserves_ this, he does.

If only he would look closer at his stiff chair, he would find a fallen black hair tie that definitely doesn’t belong to him.

Too bad he never does.

  
 **Ten.**

It turns out he almost _drowned._ In a bathtub.

What a humiliating way to die, he thinks.

He tries to laugh it off, saying _it was only an accident, I swear, I must have been so very tired for falling asleep like that when I was bathing. Really, it didn’t mean anything, and no, I wasn’t trying to commit suicide by drowning in my own bathtub, because, really, it would be uncool. Like, super uncool. Er. Of course, that wasn’t saying I would try committing suicide in the near future either, so you can stop looking at me like that, Kyoko-san. No, really, I meant it._

She sits through his explanation, not saying a word, face completely blank. Afterwards, she cooks for him, cleans up after him, and basically does every household chores needed to be done in his apartment. The domesticity of it all kinda kills him – if only because it’s so unusual to see her like that. Besides, isn’t she supposed to be busy?

“I have my priority.” She tells him when he asks her about it. “It just so happens that some works do not require my immediate attention, and therefore could be postponed to a later date.”

Kame frowns. “Have you, in a not-so-roundabout way, stated that I’m your current _top priority_?”

She stares at him long and hard, and, in a rare display of dissatisfaction, purses her lips.

A telltale of something, a sensation not exactly unfamiliar, settles itself low on his gut, slowly and surely spreading a feeling close to warmth to his entire body, leaving a tingling impression all over his skin. He feels giddy and lightheaded and he wonders if this is what _happiness_ feels like.

Oh God he can’t even – _he can’t even._

Biting his lower lip hard so as to stop himself from grinning like an idiot, he has to grip the edge of his many, many covers and blankets tight as not to try to express his joy in loud, embarrassing exclamation.

He’s painfully aware though, that happiness, just like hope, is a double-edged sword. There’s another side to this, a catch, and it wouldn’t be long until he finds out. He could already _feel_ it.

But for now he smiles and laughs and enjoys what he could; _he deserves it, dammit._

  
 **Eleven.**

He always hates it when he’s right.

Remember when he said there’s a catch? Guess what, this is the catch: she thinks it was her _fault_ that he ended up nearly drowned in his own bathtub while being drunk out of his ass.

Laughable, really.

They were supposed to dine out that night. Only, she couldn’t make it, and, considering how beer is his new bestfriend and all, he tried to drown himself in the liquor – metaphorically, of course. Never would he imagined it turned out quite literally.

Moral of the story: Do Not Attempt Taking A Bath While Drunk. _The end._

…or it should be.

The thing is, no matter what he says or how much he laughs it off, she doesn’t budge. She’s convinced it was her fault, despite the flaws he points out in her _logical_ argument. She keeps visiting him and staying by his side and taking care of him and he really shouldn’t get used to this constant attention except he does and now he couldn’t even remember what his life’s like _before her._

It would be totally okay, too, if not for one little fact: her guilt forces her to be near him, while _his guilt_ for _her guilt_ demands him to leave her the hell alone, because it’s called ‘taking advantage’ if he didn’t do something soon.

And that’s so not on.

Except when it is.

Because, if faced with the choices between a life without her and a miserable life with her, he’s. His choice is—his choice is.

He just—couldn’t imagine a life where she’s not in it, not now while he knows what it’s like to live with her, to have her constant attention, _to be the center of her world._

He doesn’t—couldn’t go back. He just _can’t._

  
 **Twelve.**

“You're right.” Kame tells Yamapi the next time they have a drink together. “You're right, and I don't fucking care anymore.”

Yamapi turns to him in alarm. “Oh my God what did you do? _What did you do?”_

He thinks of telling him all that has happened in in the past weeks – about how he changes over having a mere crush into a seriously fucked up obsession; how he goes from trying to get a little attention into grabbing it whenever he could every time she is within vicinity. He thinks of telling him that it was because he listened to Yamapi's advice that everything turns out this way, just to see the horrified expression Yamapi would be sporting the moment he realizes the role he has played in all this.

And doesn't.

Because in the end – in the end, it was his own choice to do what he did that landed him in this particular situation. The other boy might have given him an advice or two, but still he wouldn't be here if he has chosen to ignore them. So yeah, by the end of the day, you're always going to be responsible for every choice that you make.

In short, he only has himself to blame.

“Let's just say that it's better for you to not know of any of this mess.” He smiles at the other boy, slow and gullible, because it's either that or start crying shamelessly like a little child he no longer is. “That way, you wouldn't be responsible should anything happen.”

Yamapi looks at him, his eyes clouded with concern or sadness or pity or possibly even all of those. “I'm sure it's _not_ actually that bad.” he says quietly, and Kame recognizes the reassurance for what it is.

Kame thinks of that time when he realized just how he could take advantage of his little incident and the feelings that had been invoked by that particular thought: the excitement and the worries and the fear and the guilt and the self-hatred and the fact that despite everything, he still did what he shouldn't have were he a true human being with enough common sense.

But he's done punishing himself for something he really wants, for something that he doesn't regret at all, and it's only considered bad when you count the guilt anyway. Take away the guilt, and you start to feel the rightness of it all – the feeling that this is how it's supposed to be all along. So yes, he doesn't think it a bad thing at all.

“Depends, really.” He says, and downs the remaining of his glass.

  
 **Thirteen.**

Sometimes, he entertains himself by believing that she chooses to stay because she's started to fall for him, that she's started to need him as he needs her, that she's begun to see him as an equal.

Too bad he's never been good at fooling himself.

She stays because she feels obliged to; because she feels guilty. Even now, she still thinks that the 'bathtub incident' is her fault _(he no longer tries to correct her; he wants her too much to care)._

He stays because he doesn’t know how to let go.

  
 **Fourteen.**

There are times when Kame wishes she would just tell him what she really thinks.

But other times, he's glad she never does.

.

.

.

 _Fin._


End file.
